Mrs & Mrs Swan
by hoovahoopah
Summary: What do you do when you find out your spouse is trying to kill you... but you're also trying to kill them. Because ugh spy assassin life. This is a Mr. & Mrs. Smith AU. This is for Dee. Because reasons.
1. Prologue

The walls are green. A kind of muted forest green that is both calming and completely alarming. The room is bathed in the softest yellow light and Regina sits just slightly more forward, legs crossed, and even in unhappiness, she is luminescent. Her hands are folded in her lap and she's wearing that deep wine colored blouse that Emma loves so much. She really is beautiful.

Emma's chair is just a few inches back and her left leg bounces up and down. Regina hates it. _Hates it_. There is a disdainful turn of her head during which she looks down her nose at Emma's denim-clad knee. Emma wants to respond, tell her to fuck off maybe, but she's interrupted mid-thought.

"Welcome," Dr. Hopper sits across from them, legal pad poised on the armrest of his chair. He smiles kindly, though the clinician in him gives the expression a bit of detachment that Emma can't really describe.

The silence is deafening. Regina picks at some invisible lint on her skirt and Emma watches her fingers with, unfortunately, a completely non-sexual fascination. Until she feels like laughing. And then she does, because how the hell did they end up here. So she laughs and leans back in her chair until she sees Regina's entire body go rigid. Because Regina _hates_ when Emma is inappropriate.

"I just wanna say," Emma glances at Regina, "We don't really need to be here." She almost expects Regina to scoff, but Regina's better at being unpredictable. So she stays quiet. Almost agrees. Emma takes that as permission to continue, not that she needs permission for Christ's sakes. "We've been married five years now-"

"Six," Regina corrects sharply.

"We've been married five _or six_ years now, so... this is like a check-up really. A chance to poke around the engine, you know, change the oil."

Now Regina scoffs. "As if you'd even know what any of that means, what with the yellow piece of scrap metal you prefer over the-" She stops herself. Takes a deep breath. "Doctor, if you please."

Emma scowls but stays quiet.

"On a scale of one to ten, how happy are you? As a couple."

"Eight," Regina answers quickly, calmly, flattens her palms against her thighs.

"Wait," Emma shoves her hands into the pockets of her jacket and leans back against her chair. "Is ten ecstatically happy and one completely miserable? Or..."

Regina seems to reconsider her answer, "Emma brings up a valid question."

"Just answer instinctively," Dr. Hopper's pen stays capped in his hand as he observes.

"Eight," Regina says again without hesitation.

"Eight," Emma nods her answer as well.

"And how often do you have sex?" Dr. Hopper taps his pen against the yellow paper.

Regina's lips form a thin line before, "I don't understand the question."

"Yeah," Emma leans forward again. "I'm lost. Is this a one to ten thing? Because like, is one very little or is one not at all? And is ten all the time or is ten like... often?"

"Dear, technically zero would be not at all," Regina turns to look at her wife, superior and all knowing. Emma smirks back.

Dr. Hopper looks confused, his brows furrow and he pushes his glasses further up his nose. He looks almost uncomfortable. Emma would feel bad, but she's already sort of pissed about being here.

"Let's... Let's try a different approach," Dr. Hopper uncaps his pen, scribbles a few illegible notes on his legal pad. "Why don't you describe how you first met?"


	2. Bogotá

**Bogotá - ****_five or six years ago_**

Emma's leaning against the bar, drink in hand, when she spots Regina for the first time. There is rapid fire Spanish from all directions, barked by several officers, and she can hear the helicopters overhead. She catches something about single tourists and just makes out the words _asesinato _and _sobrenaural_ before there is an officer stepping into her line of sight.

"¿Estás sola?"

Emma looks up from behind her dark dark aviator sunglasses as if to say _me?_

"¿Estás sola?"

It is then, amongst the policías and harried tourists, that Emma sees her. She slips through the antiquated hotel doors, paint thin and worn, and she looks like danger and safety all at once. Her eyes meet Emma's and Emma thinks she must be imagining the brief flash of violet, like lightening, in them. But then Regina smiles, shy with a glint of mischief and something dark dark dark, and Emma is a goner.

"¿Estás sola?"

"No," Emma shakes her head, reaches out her free hand for this mysterious woman, mysterious and dark but wearing the whitest sundress Emma has ever seen. "No. She's with me. Está bien. Está bien." Her accent is dreadful and American but if she sticks her chest out just far enough, if she looks just stupid enough, no one will ask a god damn thing. She doesn't stop to think, only grasps a soft hand in hers and pulls and pulls until there are two of them, pressed against the door of her room. There wasn't time then, but there is now. To notice the way this woman seems to glow, from the soft sheen of sweat against her skin, to the glimmer of something Emma can't quite place hiding in her eyes.

"I'm Regina," she extends a hand and her lips curve into the slowest, sweetest smile Emma's ever seen.

"Emma."

The tequila is sweet sweet sweet, like the curve of Regina's lips, but it burns and burns like curve of her back, like the sway of her hips. Emma watches as Regina tilts her head back, licks her lips. Emma grins.

"_Em-ma_," her name is a song on Regina's lips, carried by the soft breeze off the mountains, and Emma leans forward, rests her elbows on the table. Regina smirks, tucks her hair behind one ear, "Care for another?"

Emma laughs, full and deep and pushes her glass forward with her thumb, "If you can take it, I can take it."

Regina's smile is demure and gentle as she pours and Emma eyes the elegant curve of her wrist. "Your toast," Regina nods and nudges Emma's glass forward.

"Ah," Emma picks up her drink, rolls the cool glass between her thumb and first two fingers for a moment as she thinks. "To dodging bullets."

"To dodging bullets," Regina repeats as she raises her glass in agreement.

Emma's glass is the first to hit the table again and she leans back in her chair with a satisfied grunt. The sun is long gone, but Emma can still see it, fanning out around Regina like a fucking halo. The same band has been playing for hours, slow sweet melodies that float above them in the warm night air.

Regina's already refilled her own glass and offers up the bottle to Emma again.

"No," Emma's shakes her head and leans back in her chair. She chuckles softly and pulls a cigarette from behind one ear. The tobacco is sweet and bitter all at once and the smoke hangs in the air like the tails of a ghost, "You've got trouble written all over you."

Regina smirks before tossing back her shot. The glass hits the table with a loud clink and she watches Emma with surprising alertness. She's slow and soft as she places her hand on the table, palm up.

Emma smiles, cigarette dangling from her lips, and reaches out. She traces a flower on the palm of Regina's hand with her index finger. Regina plucks the cigarette from Emma's lips with her free hand and takes a slow drag before stubbing it out on the leg of the table. "So it speaks," she pushes herself away from the table and stands, grasping Emma's index finger in her hand. "But does it dance."

And the next thing Emma knows, she's standing, flush against Regina's back, as Regina's hips move to the beat. Her hand splays itself across Regina's stomach, soft crisp white cotton and Emma's fingers flex. Regina reaches back, wraps an arm around Emma's middle, the other moves up and back, bent at the elbow, and her fingertips brush agains the back of Emma's neck. And all Emma can do is hold on and try not to groan as Regina grinds against her. She's sensuous and angelic all at once, dark dark hair and her dark dark eyes, and soft soft skin, covered by a flimsy layer of white cotton, and god damn it, Emma Swan is fucked.

Regina hums too, she has the audacity to hum while she is grinding her incredibly perfect ass against Emma's front, and her voice is smoky and warm and maybe the sexiest thing Emma's ever heard. And Emma can't help it, "_Shit._"

And then Regina laughs. Throaty and full and Emma loses it. One hand moves to Regina's thigh and the other travels upward to rest just beneath her breast. And Emma tries, really tries to be respectful but something along the lines of _Jesus Christ_ and _I want to fuck you into next week_ comes out. Which Regina seems fine with, really, because she just presses further into Emma and leans her head back on Emma's shoulder and smiles like Emma's brilliant.

The rain comes, rolling in without a care, and then it's just the two of them, swaying together as the rain beats down. Emma smiles when Regina turns in her arms, presses her nose to Emma's and waits, expectantly. And when Emma simply presses her forehead to Regina's instead of her lips, Regina pouts. "You've been staring at my mouth all night, why don't you just kiss me already."

"I knew you were trouble," Emma murmurs before she presses her lips to Regina's.

Regina's hands slip beneath the soft cotton of Emma's white tank and press flat against the small of her back as Emma's lips trace the line of her jaw. Her hips are still swaying and one of Emma's hands grabs a fistful of the flowing cotton over Regina's ass. Regina's back arches in response and she tilts her head back and Emma can't help but nip at the muscle and soft flesh, tasting rain and smoke and Regina. Regina's smiling and making soft sounds in Emma's ear and Emma isn't entirely sure she's even moved until she feels something at the back of her knees, until she's being pushed down onto an empty chair. Until Regina's hiking up her rain-soaked skirt and climbing on top of her. Regina's fingers slip through Emma's wet hair, pushing it away from her face so she can press kisses to Emma's temples, to her cheeks, just the barest whispers of her lips against Emma's dewy skin. Emma's hands slip up Regina's thighs and she groans when strong muscle flexes beneath her fingers, _shit shit shit. Yes yes yes._

The loose denim of her jeans is soaked through and sticking to her legs and god damn it, it's uncomfortable, but Regina starts to rock her hips against Emma's as their lips meet again and Emma doesn't care about anything else. Her grip tightens around Regina's thighs before her hands move upward beneath white cotton, heavy with rain, until her fingertips reach lace.

"_Em-ma_," Regina tangles her fingers in Emma's hair, kisses her hard, deep, and Emma moans, traces the line of lace across Regina's hipbone. Regina rolls her hips once, twice, and her breathy _"oh"_ gasped into Emma's mouth erases all thought from Emma's mind. Her hands move to Regina's ass, pulling her close close close, and Regina groans, allows Emma to guide her, force her down harder, slower, until Regina's back arches until her hands move to Emma's shoulders because it's almost too much. She presses her forehead to Emma's and tries to catch her breath. Her chest is heaving and Emma's eyes are drawn to the front of her dress, translucent and sicking in all the rightwrong places, and Emma wonders if this is maybe a frat boy's dream come true.

"Oh, god," Emma groans as she dips her head, peppers kisses along Regina's collarbones until she arches back again. She nudges the wet fabric aside with her nose and traces one dusky rose nipple with the tip of her tongue. Regina shudders above her, clenches her fist in Emma's hair, and Emma smiles, nips at the underside of Regina's breast. Regina rocks gently against Emma again, mewling softly, and one of Emma's hands traces a slow path back to Regina's thigh.

"Kiss me," is Regina's breathy request as Emma's hand settles atop her thigh. So Emma does, full and sweet, until she's certain she's completely stolen the breath from Regina's lungs. "Touch me," she murmurs against Emma's lips.

Emma opens her eyes, looks up at Regina. There's a wild look in her eyes, wild and lazy and something that burns and burns. So Emma waits, traces the bit of lace just above Regina's cunt, and she grins. She watches the way Regina's eyes flutter shut and her eyes travel down, pausing to admire the rapid rise and fall of Regina's chest. She taps a gentle rhythm with her fingertips and a strangled groan pushes past Regina's lips.

"Fuck, _Emma_."

And Emma can't wait any longer, she pushes the lace aside, slides her fingers through soft soft wet wet flesh and groans. Regina gasps above her when her fingers brush against her clit and Emma chuckles. She presses a kiss to the center of Regina's chest and Regina rolls her hips forward in silent encouragement. So Emma relents and then she's inside Regina, up to her knuckles in Regina, and Regina sighs in contentment before she urges Emma on again.

"_Please_."

Emma moves slowly, punishingly so, and Regina moans and grips Emma's shoulder tightly with one hand. The other moves to her own breast and Emma watches with wonder as Regina touches herself. She's like nothing Emma's ever seen before, unbridled lust and passion and sweet sweet sweet (but she's as dark as she is sweet sometimes and Emma doesn't know what to think when it crosses her face as she's riding her). She adds a third finger and moves her other hand to push Regina's dress up above her hips. She wants to watch, wants to see, and she groans at the sight, white lace pushed aside and god damn, Regina's wet. And now she can see it, and fuck, all she wants to do is taste it. So she does. She stops with a breathy, "Wait." And brings her fingers to her lips. Regina watches, her eyes wild and dark.

Emma makes a show of it, licking her fingers clean before Regina rushes forward to taste herself on Emma's lips. She gasps when Emma pushes inside her again, three fingers and a thumb on her clit. Emma's wrist hurts and she's pretty sure her bicep is burning from exertion too, but she doesn't care. She just wants to watch Regina come apart above her. She wants to fuck Regina until her name falls of full sweet lips, over and over again.

"Come for me," she nips at Regina's jaw, and Regina's cry when her fingers hit just right pushes her forward. "That's it, come for me, Regina."

And Regina does, Emma's name a melody on her lips.

She's breathing heavy against Emma's ear, her cheek pressed to Emma's shoulder, and Emma gathers her up, arms tight around her as the rain slows, slow and slows until it stops. And it isn't until the rain starts again that she follows Emma back to her room, her hand clasped tightly in Emma's.

Regina wakes alone, to warm sunlight and the soft breeze left after the rain. She stretches out beneath the sheets, and a slow lazy smile crosses her lips when Emma's blonde head comes through the doorway. It's quiet and the breeze fills the silence, flitting through the curtains and dancing across the scattered pages of yesterday's paper. Emma smiles back, her eyes bright, and Regina sits up slowly.

"Hiya, stranger."

"Hiya back," Emma's all cheek and Regina feels herself relax. Like she hasn't in years. And she watches as Emma places a small tray on the bed. "I think room service fled, so, I did what I could."

"Thank you," Regina takes the offered cup and takes a small sip. The milk is sweet, sweet like Emma's smile, and she closes her eyes in delight. "Mm, that's good."

Emma nods and takes her own mug toward the open balcony doors. She looks out at the city and the far countryside behind it and sighs. "It better be, I had to milk a fucking goat to get it."

Regina laughs, full and throaty, and it hits Emma between her legs and deep in her belly. She remembers Regina last night, equal parts innocence and that dark dark look in her eyes as she had disappeared beneath the sheets.

Regina picks up the paper with her free hand and scans the headlines, makes out the word _asesinato, _before she feels something fall into her lap. The flower is soft between her fingertips, soft and fragrant, and she looks up at Emma questioningly. Emma shrugs and gives a shy smile. Shy and sweet. And she feels something flutter in her chest as she watches Regina place the flower behind her ear.

She is as lovely as she is terrifying and Emma can't breathe. The breeze catches Regina's hair and she glows in the morning sunlight. It's so peaceful that Emma almost forgets the danger that could still be lurking just beyond the safety of her room. And then Regina is moving towards her, wrapped in a sheet, a purple flower in her sex-mussed hair. Emma does forget then, and she reaches for Regina, pulling her close. She smells like sunsets and rain and mornings, and Emma nuzzles her neck happily.

"I think I could fall in love with you," she kisses Regina before she has a chance to respond.

"I bet you say that to all the girls," is Regina's muffled response. She smiles, brushes her lips over Emma's jaw, then her neck, until Emma moans.

"The difference is," Emma tugs at the sheet until it pools to the ground at Regina's feet. "I didn't _want_ to fall in love with them."

"You said it yourself," Regina stands up to her full height, presses herself against Emma. "I'm trouble."


	3. Carnival

"Hey, step right up, ladies and gentlemen. Try your luck."

It's overcast, drizzly, but Emma wouldn't take no for an answer.

_"Regina, I've been planning this date for like, over a week, please? I'll buy you an umbrella."_

It's a far cry from Colombian summer rain, but Regina is tucked under Emma's arm and she's all buttery leather and soft skin and eyes that shine and shine and shine. And Regina is smiling, it's a private smile, a smile that ducks its head and matches Emma's eyes. She doesn't care so much about the rain or the crowds and she's smiling like she hasn't since a pretty redhead kissed her beneath an apple tree senior year in New Haven.

"How about you, little lady?"

Regina looks to Emma when she realizes the barker is speaking to her, "_I'm not little,_" and Emma grins back at her and presses a lazy kiss to Regina's lips. Like she has all the time in the world.

"Wanna try your luck? Win a prize?"

She slips from beneath Emma's arm, hands her the half-eaten spool of pink cotton candy she's been holding, and then she's hefting the weight of a rifle in her hands. She's never been one for guns, prefers other methods other means instead, but there's still something comforting about the way it feels, worn wood and cold metal, against the palms of her hands.

"You know how to hold it?" Emma's still grinning at her, shit-eating and mildly patronizing, and Regina remembers herself. Remembers that Emma doesn't _know_. That she _likes_ Emma. Likes Emma a great deal, really. And she curses herself silently, because she's not about to blow it.

"Yeah," Regina smiles shyly, digs down deep and finds the awkwardness of a lovesick teenager, and shrugs. She loosens her grip, feels her hand slip too far down the neck of the gun, the other grips too tight and too close on the belly.

"Yeah?" Emma's eyebrows raise, but she shoves some cotton candy in her mouth and nods. Regina's sort of surprised at how sexy that is.

"Yeah," she holds the rifle at her torso, remembers what sixteen felt like, and pulls the trigger.

"You gotta aim it," Emma's laughing sweetly, stepping closer, and Regina's laughing too and she smells leather and sugary sweetness and beer and Emma. She resists the urge to curl into that smell, to Emma's warmth, and she stands rigid, missing all of the targets with the grace of a child. "Aim it, Regina."

"I know!" she does know and she should try, but she doesn't, because Emma is equal parts adorable and annoying and fucking chest-forward don't care attitude, and Regina finds it disgustingly attractive. "Don't laugh," she's firing haphazard shots, and all she can feel is Emma's hand at her lower back and soft puffs of laughter against her temple. "I'll kill you."

Emma chuckles, nods toward all of Regina's missed targets, "I'm not so sure about that, 'Gina." And then Emma's picking up another rifle, and the chain on it hits Regina's thigh on the way up. And she should be annoyed by that. But she's not. Not yet.

Emma hits five fucking animal targets. Three yellow ducks, a pink elephant, and a green bull. The hollow metal sound echoes in Regina's ears, rattles around, because now it's a fucking challenge. Not really. Not at all.

"Can we still get something?" Emma's nodding at the small stuffed animals lining the far wall and she nods when the barker's hand rests over a small tiger. Upon seeing Regina's now flushed cheeks and narrowed eyes, she shrugs, "Beginners luck."

Asshole.

"I want to go again."

"Going again," Emma passes a few crumpled bills to the barker and settles back in, chewing thoughtfully on another clump of cotton candy.

This time, Regina aims. Lifts the fucking gun and aims, like a lady. And she hits nine. Emma's five, a blue moose, a green severed head, and two more ducks. And then she politely reaches over to close Emma's mouth. "It's impolite to gawk, Emma."

It isn't until later, when they're standing on the pier, that Regina lets herself smile again. A real smile. A private smile. A smile for Emma. She's clutching her big prize bear to her chest and leaning against the rail, and Emma is next to her. She's got one arm around Regina's waist and she has an ice cream cone clutched tightly in her other hand.

"Where'd you learn to shoot like that?" Emma's eyes are on the horizon, Regina's on the choppy water below. "I mean," Emma trails off, turns her head to look at Regina. "Yeah."

Regina shrugs and smiles, "Beginner's luck."

And then Emma Swan does something stupid brilliant wonderful.

Because that smile. She would do anything for that smile. To see it, and to keep it right there. Because Regina should always be smiling like that. Like happiness, like warmth, like light. And she gets the urge to pick Regina up and spin her around after that, so she does, the stuffed bear smushed between them, and when Regina laughs, shit, Emma feels everything stop, like in a movie. And her heart beats faster and faster and Regina's there. Right there.

"Stop. Stop, you've only known the girl for six weeks," Neal drags a hand down his face in aggravation. He's sitting down, having made some lame excuse about heartburn rendering him useless in a fight.

Emma hops from foot to foot, stares August down. They've been sparring for the better part of an hour and she's almost positive she's found a weakness in his left leg that she's about to bank on. "I'm in love," she grins and shakes her hair out of her face.

"Six weeks?" August throws a punch, Emma ducks. He's losing focus.

"She's smart, sexy," Emma dodges another poorly aimed punch and darts across the ring. "She's," she pauses, looking for the right words, "Uninhibited, spontaneous, complicated." She blocks one of August's better moves before landing a hit to his left temple.

"Shit, Swan!"

"She's the sweetest thing I've ever seen," she grins and thinks of Regina's smile. Wide and bright and beautiful.

"I knew Tamara two and a half years before I asked her to marry me," Neal is adjusting the drape of his fucking scarf when Emma glances over at him.

"Bullshit, Neal," Emma rolls her eyes and August follows suit.

"Jesus, tough crowd. Point is, you have to have a foundation of friendship, Swan. The other stuff, that'll fade with time."

"You don't think this is all happening a little too fast?" Kathryn tugs the zipper of her pullover higher as she watches Regina stretch.

Regina looks up from where she's bent in half over one leg, "You know I never do anything without thinking it through first." She lifts her leg from the back of the park bench and takes off ahead of Kathryn.

Kathryn makes a strangled sound before she sprints forward, trying to catch up. "What does she do?"

"She's a contractor. She and two of her college friends. Started a business, now they're big time. And," she pauses, scanning the park up ahead. "She's gone as much as I am, it's perfect." She chooses the path that leads to the pond and she's gone before Kathryn can even blink.

"Damn it, Regina."

"She's like Batman for computers," Emma chokes out. August has her pinned, god damn it, and she didn't even see it coming. She lashes out, kicks around a little bit, but she's fighting a losing battle.

"I give the whole thing six months, tops," August's looking down at her and she sees Neal nodding in her peripheral.

"Fuck you, August."

"You didn't want to," he loosens his grip, gives her a second to breathe.

"Yeah, that's right, I don't. But maybe someone will, even though you peaked in college." Cheap shot, but anything more intelligent leaves Neal and August scratching their heads for days.

August steps back, offended, and Emma takes the time and space to stand up again. "Hey, Neal," she claps her gloved hands together twice to get his attention. Mistake, because August has her in a chokehold before she even realizes they're far from finished. "God damn it!" She struggles for a minute, "Neal!"

"What?" he's half listening, half checking out some blonde punching the shit out of a bag.

"I asked her to marry me."

"What?" August chokes her for real this time and Neal comes marching back toward them. "What did you just say?"

"I'm getting married!" Emma's grinning and her eyes are sort of glazed over and she's not even really there anymore. Or maybe she's just not getting enough oxygen to her brain.

"I can't hear you."

"Getting married!" she rasps, hits August's forearm and tries to stomp on his foot. "Fuck!"

"Stop choking her, Christ, I think she just said something crazy," Neal's looking at her with the intense expression he saves for his father's girlfriend. August's grip loosens and next thing Emma knows, she's flat on her back. "What did you just say, Emma?"

"I'm getting married!" she punches the air with one triumphant gloved fist.

"Fuck."


End file.
